


Just So Long As You Can Keep From Drowning

by berlynn_wohl



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Creepy Fluff, Hand Jobs, M/M, Scenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-20
Updated: 2014-06-20
Packaged: 2018-02-05 11:52:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1817530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/berlynn_wohl/pseuds/berlynn_wohl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An expanded version of the scene between Will & Hannibal at the end of Shiizakana/beginning of Naka-Choko; or, the answer to your question, "Do I want to read 5000 words of Hannibal giving Will a bath and Will being a sassy little muffin about it?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just So Long As You Can Keep From Drowning

Hannibal Lecter wanted for very few things in life. He had made this happen for himself, through tireless hard work and profound cunning. But because he shunned human companionship, and because he took almost sole responsibility for the preparation of the food he ate, he had gone his entire life without the luxury of returning home from a taxing day at work knowing he could expect to find a warm meal on the table, waiting for him. 

Opening the double-doors into the dining room that night, and seeing what Will Graham had arrived at his house to present him with…well, Hannibal had a much better understanding of what some of his patients had meant when they talked about the moment they knew that their spouse or lover was “the one.” 

He was so proud. Will seemed proud too, but in a different, defiant sort of way. Every word he uttered about being “even” was quietly impudent. _I know this is what you meant for me to do. And now I’ve done it. I’ll bet you are just insufferably pleased with yourself._ Will’s pride came from knowing that he could see the puppet strings. But that didn’t bother Hannibal, because Will was dancing all the same, and his choice to relocate himself and Randall Tier’s body with such theatricality demonstrated that he was just as enthusiastic about showmanship as Hannibal himself. (Hannibal made a mental note to re-activate the burglar alarm as soon as was convenient – now that Will had craftily “broken in,” there was no more need for it to be disarmed.) 

“This evening has no doubt depleted you,” Hannibal said, low and mild. He stepped toward Will, admiring his shaking, bloody hands. He must have worked so hard with those hands, with such resolve and fortitude, to dispose of a man armored in bone. “What can I do for you now?” 

Will avoided meeting Hannibal’s gaze, looking around the room as if anything in it would show him the answer. Finally, he said, “I’d like to use your bathroom, if that’s alright.” 

Hannibal chuckled. “Of course. You know where it is.” Nonetheless, he guided Will with a hand on the small of his back for several steps. 

Will returned a few minutes later, to find Hannibal alone in the dining room, and the surface of the dining table immaculate. “What…” 

“Randall is in a safe place, now. We won’t need to worry about him for a little while.” 

Will looked to the floor, for a clue about where the body had gone. Hannibal was perfectly aware that a hint as to where Hannibal carried out clandestine activities would be invaluable to the authorities. Which was why the floorboards bore no telltale scuffs or debris. 

Hannibal looked to Will’s hands again; the blood over his knuckles was smeared in such a way that Hannibal could recognize that even in the mind-numbing wake of his gruesome enterprise, Will still had the decency to wash his hands after urinating, but he had not taken the time to properly clean his wounds while he’d been in the bathroom. He couldn’t, even if he’d cared to; Hannibal would not have left the necessary supplies in there. He didn’t want Will taking care of it himself. 

Instead, he invited Will to sit at the table. Will did as he was told; he even took the chair that Hannibal gestured toward, which was not the chair that was nearest to him. This pleased Hannibal greatly. Will’s mind was growing sluggish, as the adrenaline that had been keeping him sharp was draining away, with nothing to fill the void it was leaving behind. Will would rather obey Hannibal than make decisions for himself, because it meant he could devote more of his remaining resources to just keeping his eyes open and not falling over. 

Hannibal got down on his knees and untied Will’s boots, pulled them off one by one. He couldn’t have Will dragging mud over any more of his Turkish rugs, though that reason may have come second to hearing the thick groan of relief Will uttered when he was free to wriggle his aching feet about. He slouched in the chair, seemingly unconcerned about Hannibal leaving the room. 

Hannibal returned with a porcelain bowl full of clean water, and a pristine white towel underneath. He rolled up his sleeves, not hurrying, making each fold perfect as the fabric slid up his arms. Will allowed Hannibal to place his hands, one at a time, into the cool water. A wonderful, warm feeling tightened Hannibal’s gut as he watched Will’s blood bloom and disperse, defiling the water. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket to dab at the bloody knuckles, being as gentle as possible but not hesitating to use the precise amount of firmness necessary to dislodge any grit from the wounds. Then he dried each of Will’s hands in turn, smirking at Will’s weak complaint: “You’re ruining that towel.” 

“The towel is just a piece of fabric. There’s nothing meaningful about it.” He regarded Will’s blood on it. “ Or there wasn’t, until now.” 

“You didn’t bring any bandages.” 

“I don’t want them to get wet in the bath.” 

“Oh…Wait, what bath?” 

“The bath that you’re going to be relaxing in while you eat something that I prepare for you. When was the last time you consumed something that was not coffee or alcohol?” 

Will tilted his head back. “I, ah…I had…hmm…” Will pondered this for so long, he seemed to lose his train of thought, and never answered the question.

 

 

****

 

 

Hannibal led Will by the arm up the stairs and into the spacious master suite, two rooms and a walk-in closet that equaled Will’s entire house in size. The décor of the master bath, like the rest of the house, was expansive and ostentatious, but in an old-world way. Cream-colored brushed marble tile and gold fixtures from one end to the other, with teak cabinets. Two basins in a table-style counter, a glass corner shower, and a bathtub easily large enough to accommodate two people enclosed in a raised platform, with two steps. 

Will blinked slowly as he looked around, finally remarking, “What, no fireplace?” 

Behind him, Hannibal was standing so close that when he exhaled in three rapid bursts to indicate amusement, Will could feel them on his neck. He guided Will to the edge of the tub’s platform, reached over to turn the tap and start the water running, then began to help Will out of his clothes. First, the cashmere scarf and gray wool coat, which had been Hannibal’s gifts to Will upon his release from the Baltimore State Hospital; he hung them on the peg on the back of the door. 

Next, the green button-down shirt, soft from many, many launderings, and worn a bit at the cuffs. Hannibal had gathered that Will was not a man who took pleasure in buying new clothes, and would happily wear everything he owned into the ground, if allowed. Now that this particular item was flecked with Randall Tier’s blood and hair, Hannibal hoped that Will would let him burn it. 

Beneath that, a white t-shirt reeking and stained faintly yellow with Will’s perspiration. Hannibal breathed in with a slightly open mouth, smelling and tasting fear in that sweat, but also plain exertion. Will’s wrath had not just come in a burst of panic. He had drawn it out, dropped his gun and put his back into the work of killing his opponent. 

Hannibal asked Will to raise his arms so he could peel the shirt from his sticky skin. A fresh burst of intoxicatingly complex body odor accompanied the action. Hannibal set the t-shirt aside, separate from the button-down. He might hold onto it, for later. 

He knelt, tapping the arch of each of Will’s feet in turn, prompting him to lift them so that Hannibal could hook a finger into the socks and peel them off. Will’s foot odor did not interest him nearly as much, and he returned to a standing position without delay, so that he might now reach for Will’s belt. For the first time, Will resisted, tilting his pelvis to put his belt buckle slightly out of reach. 

“Why are you embarrassed?” Hannibal said. “I’m a doctor, and also a man. Do you think I haven’t seen one before?” 

“Mnh,” Will replied, apparently unable to come up with a more convincing argument. 

Holding the frame of the buckle with his left hand, Hannibal pushed the leather back through with his right, freeing it from the prong. He slid it out of the loops of Will’s khaki trousers, then coiled it and set it on the counter, so that it surrounded the rolled-up socks. The button and zipper of the trousers were easy work, and Hannibal pushed them down, then took a half-step back until Will got the idea that he was supposed to step out of them. Now there was only one item left, Will’s snug gray boxer-briefs, damp with sweat just as his t-shirt had been, but with a different sort of musk clinging to them in addition. Hannibal’s nostrils flared before he slid his hands down Will’s sides, until they caught on the fabric and pulled it down. 

Being painstakingly undressed had apparently not done as much for Will as it had been doing for Hannibal; his prick was soft in its nest of untrimmed pubic hair. Hannibal was mildly surprised that Will was uncircumcised, but it wasn’t unheard of in America for parents of Will’s generation to elect _not_ to butcher their sons. Particularly if he came from a Catholic family, which was likely considering his surname. 

Now that he had a naked, sleepy, aromatic Will Graham standing before him, Hannibal placidly turned his attention away, so that he might check the temperature of the bath, which was nearly finished filling. It was a little too hot, but he was confident Will would get accustomed to it quickly. 

He helped Will up the steps and into the bath, delighting in his hisses upon perceiving the temperature of the water. He helped Will stay steady as he lowered himself; Will’s final groan when he was seated and relaxed was _delicious_. 

“I have something simple I can prepare for you to eat,” Hannibal said. “Something hearty, but that won’t put a strain on your digestion, hm? Do you think that you might fall asleep while I’m gone?” 

Will shook his head in a way that explicitly indicated _No_ , but implied _It’s Entirely Possible_. “No, no,” he insisted. “I’m exhausted, but my, my brain is still buzzing. I’ll be wide awake for a while longer.” He raised his legs so that his toes were up out of the water, safe from the stinging heat. 

Hannibal smiled inwardly at Will’s insistence that he was wide awake. “Just so long as you can keep from drowning while I heat something up for you. If that were to happen, it would be very awkward indeed to try to explain to Jack. I won’t be long.” 

Will nodded, more or less in the direction of his toes. 

He was startled when Hannibal returned with a tray, as though he’d entirely forgotten that Hannibal existed, that he lived in this house. Hannibal set the tray aside on the counter while he urged Will to sit up straight, and pulled a stainless steel bath tray from the cupboard, which he laid across the tub and tucked up close to Will’s chest. “I hope you don’t mind some leftovers, rather than having you wait for me to prepare something fresh.” 

One by one, he placed each item on the bath tray: a napkin, a spoon, a covered silver bowl, and a glass of white wine. As he lifted the lid on the bowl, he recited, “Little neck quahogs, La Bonnotte potatoes, and mangalitsa bacon, accompanied by a 2007 Bouchard Pere and Fils chardonnay.” 

Will looked down at his clam chowder and said, “This is how you do leftovers.” 

Hannibal sat down on the upper step of the platform, beside the tub, and watched a famished Will try to maintain his composure and not inhale the soup. Occasionally, Will would look to Hannibal, as if seeking reassurance that it was alright to eat in front of him, when Hannibal had nothing of his own. But Hannibal continued to indicate, with little inclines of his head, that it was more than alright. He enjoyed watching Will eat. It was obvious that childhood poverty had made him a defensive eater; Hannibal had seen the forlorn look on his face in public places, watching someone dispose of a half-finished plate of food. But Will also recognized that in Hannibal’s world, meals proceeded at a glacial pace, and in an effort to not offend those sensibilities, he had inadvertently trained himself to savor each bite, taught himself what pleasure lay in a scrupulously prepared meal. 

“I was afraid you were going to try to spoon-feed me, as well,” Will said, between swallows of wine. 

“Perhaps some other time,” Hannibal replied. 

When Will was finished eating, Hannibal took each item from the bath tray, replaced them on the tray on the counter, and finally put the bath tray back in the cupboard. The whole time, Will seemed to want to ask a question, but he waited until Hannibal was shutting the cupboard door. 

“Can I get some soap, and a…” he made a scrubbing gesture, “something to wash with?” 

“No, you cannot,” Hannibal said. “But I can.” He opened the cupboard again, and removed a thick washcloth, two bars of soap, and a shampoo bottle, which he held capably in one hand. He put them at the foot of the bath, out of Will’s reach, then retrieved a pitcher, also stainless steel, appearing to match the bath tray. Finally, he brought out two fluffy sand-colored towels, placing the first one right next to the tub, on the upper step, to use as a cushion for himself. The other he set aside. 

He began with the pitcher. He dipped it into the water, between Will’s knees, and with his free hand urged Will to tilt his head back. For the first time, Will noticed the skylight in the ceiling. There were no stars visible, not here in civilization, but there were a few twinkles in the sky, satellites and space junk. Hannibal poured the water carefully over his scalp, not getting a drop in Will’s eyes. Then he squeezed some shampoo into his palm. Will found the scent intoxicating, though he couldn’t identify it – well, he could somewhat; it smelled like “expensive.” As Hannibal lathered his hair, Will got a look at the bottle. He’d had no idea what “tea oil enriched with flavonoids” smelled like; he guessed he knew now. Satisfied, he let his eyes fall shut as Hannibal massaged it into his scalp, listening to the crisp sounds of the lather being worked up. Hannibal’s methodical hands sent shivers down his spine, and he hummed in pleasure. 

Hannibal tilted Will’s head back once more, to rinse the shampoo away. He pushed his splayed hand across Will’s scalp as he filled and poured the pitcher out several times, to work the suds away. 

Next, he took up a bar of creamy-looking soap, turning it over and over in his hands before setting it down and placing his lathered palms along either side of Will’s face. He gently worked the soap in, explaining to Will that this particular soap, which was made specifically for one’s face, was “a fine and deceptively complex triple-milled interpretation of lily-of-the-valley.” Will understood each of those words individually, but not so much when they were assembled in that combination, and decided that his remaining cognitive resources were better devoted to rolling his eyes at Hannibal showing off once again. He could not deny, however, how good Hannibal’s fingertips felt, as they massaged his temples. Hannibal applied firm pressure underneath Will’s eyes, working from the inside out with his ring fingers, then back to the bridge of his nose and down toward Will’s nostrils. It seemed like it should have felt painful, to have his face handled that way, but it only felt soothing. Hannibal rubbed the soap into his beard, massaging his jaw, letting his hands slip down Will’s throat, feeling his Adam’s apple bob when he swallowed. Finally, he had Will squeeze his eyes shut, and poured another pitcher of water to rinse him. Will’s face, when tilted up, managed to look beatific even when his eyes were scrunched up. 

A different bar of soap this time, and Hannibal worked it into the soft washcloth. The smell was so delicate and natural; nothing like the harsh chemical (marketed as “invigorating”) smell of the supermarket soap Will bought. Hannibal began with Will’s chest, rubbing the soapy cloth across, back and forth, and then up and over Will’s shoulders. He placed a firm hand on the back of Will’s neck to get him to lean forward, so that he could scrub Will’s back. He was on Will’s right side, and could not get a good look at the scar from his bullet wound, but an older scar, two inches long, was perfectly visible over his right shoulder blade. A knife wound. A left-handed attacker had been waiting in the shadows when Will had burst through a door into some criminal den, perhaps. Crude and pointless. 

Will bent his knees and tucked his chin between them, prepared to let Hannibal take as long as he wished. And take his time Hannibal did, sometimes scrubbing with the cloth, sometimes exploring with his fingers, feeling the tendinous areas along the outer edges of Will’s trapezius, the nodules of fiber buried in the muscle. The harder Hannibal worked at these spots, the louder and more happily Will moaned, so he spent quite a while at it, also taking the opportunity to feel out Will’s vertebrae, all their charming little bumps and valleys. Sometimes he would get slightly lost in thought, imagining all the beautiful things Will had beneath his skin, all of it held together so tenuously, and slick with fluid. 

He lifted each of Will’s arms, rubbing the washcloth along each smooth, slender limb with its subtle curves of muscle, admiring the way the _coracobrachialis_ , _teres major_ and _minor_ , and _triceps brachii_ met to form the fragrant, fuzzy hollow of each armpit. Then he directed Will to recline again, and returned his attention to Will’s front, sliding the washcloth over his smooth chest and then down under the water to scrub. He soon crumpled the edge of the washcloth up into his palm, so that he could put his bare fingertips on Will’s abdomen, hooking them gently into Will’s flesh to feel the soft, smooth edge of his liver, which descended slightly with each breath Will took. He advanced to push gently under the left coastal margin, as well, watching Will’s face for signs of discomfort. He saw only bliss. 

Hannibal lifted himself from his place at the head of the tub, and seated himself on the rim near the opposite end, then reached down into the water to grab Will by the ankle and lift one foot out. He gave each foot a thorough scrubbing, pressing the corner of the washcloth between each of Will’s toes, then dropped the washcloth in favor of rubbing with his hands. He dug his thumbs into the heel, one pushing upwards, the other down. He pressed his knuckles into the arch. By now Will was cooing and sighing at the attention. Hannibal spent time with each individual toe, pulling on them gently, sliding his fingers in between to rub the base of each…and never, ever tickling. 

After he took care of each foot, he replenished the soap in his palms, then worked his way up Will’s legs, rotating his ankles, kneading his calves, spreading his fingers as they squeezed inch by inch up the length of each thigh. 

He took up the washcloth again, soaped it up, and plunged it into the water so that he might wash Will’s soft prick and balls. He cleaned them with firm but loving care, gently pushing back Will’s foreskin to wash underneath. Will uttered only the slightest grunt in response, but spread his thighs an inch or two, courteously allowing Hannibal slightly more access. 

“Can I ask you to plant your feet and lift your pelvis?” Hannibal said softly. 

Will obeyed, figuring out a moment later that he was being asked to do this because Hannibal wanted to wash _all the way down_. Hannibal pushed the washcloth down behind Will’s balls, and on the upstroke let it slip so that the very tip of his index finger dragged across Will’s skin, dipping just the slightest bit as it touched Will’s hole. Will grunted softly again, but said nothing on the matter, perhaps out of embarrassment. 

Hannibal wrung out the washcloth, folded it neatly, and set it aside. Will looked up at him, to see what would happen next. Hannibal took the opportunity to hold Will’s upturned face in his hands and give him a soft kiss. He started slowly, playing at being tentative. But when Will opened his mouth for more, Hannibal gave it to him, feeding him hot breaths and a bold, agile tongue. 

Will was surrendering himself utterly within moments to Hannibal’s devouring kisses, just accepting everything he was given, for as long as Hannibal cared to give it. Hannibal relented only when he wished to instead sample Will’s clean, damp neck and earlobes, a low growl escaping his throat as he sucked against the sensitive skin. 

Then he paused, just to see whether – and how eagerly – Will would come after him for more. Instead, he found Will’s eyelids heavy, his lips invitingly parted but the rest of his face still a picture of exhaustion. His eyes met Hannibal’s with a pleading look of discomfiture. 

“I got hard, just now,” he said softly. 

“That’s very flattering,” Hannibal replied, because it seemed the most polite thing to say. 

Will averted his eyes. “…I got hard when I killed Randall Tier.” 

“In such an intensely stressful situation, the rush of catecholamines and increased blood flow might naturally result in an erection.” 

Will brought his knees up again, and wrapped his arms around them defensively. He started straight forward and said, “I didn’t get hard until I started imagining it was you.” 

Hannibal didn’t reply right away. He got up, put away the soaps and shampoo, then returned to Will’s side and said, “So, which would you rather do right now? Kill me, or kiss me?” 

Will seemed to ponder this for several seconds. His shoulders twitched. Finally he answered, by tilting his face upwards once more. Hannibal bestowed several more kisses on him, teasing ones this time, across his forehead and cheekbones. Then he stood up, saying, “It’s time to get out of the tub now.” 

Will was little more than a slippery collection of loose limbs at this point, but with his arms around Hannibal’s neck, he managed to get upright and out of the tub. He took the two steps to the floor with wobbly legs, still clinging. 

Hannibal unfurled the towel he’d set aside, and now Will could see how big it was, a huge, soft expanse of Egyptian cotton that engulfed him. Hannibal gave Will a vigorous rubdown with it, until the widest planes of his body were pink and glowing. He then proceeded to delicately pat-dry Will’s more private and sensitive corners, working carefully around his still half-erect penis, gently cupping his balls. 

Once he was dry, Hannibal wrapped Will up in his robe, then had him seat himself on a narrow upholstered bench next to the sink. From another cabinet, Hannibal pulled out a first aid kit. Will looked down at his knuckles, and asked, “Where’s Tier’s body?” 

“I told you we’re not worrying about him right now.” 

“ _I’m_ worrying about him right now.” 

“Are you afraid that I left him someplace where someone might happen across him? Or are you anxious because you do not feel that your work is complete?” Hannibal opened the kit and removed a roll of gauze, scissors, and some analgesic cream. “Randall Tier gave you a gift. You said he made you feel alive. Are you thinking about how you would repay him?” 

Will watched Hannibal carefully dress his wounds while he pondered this question. Hannibal held Will’s right hand with care as he wrapped the gauze around and around Will’s clean but ragged knuckles. He did the same for the left, and once he’d finished, brought the hand to his mouth, giving the knuckles the barest brush of his lips against the gauze. 

Will smiled. “Is that an officially sanctioned medical technique? Kissing it better?” 

“You know that I am more accepting than most of unconventional methods,” Hannibal said, and kissed the other set of knuckles in turn. 

After helping Will to stand, Hannibal produced a new toothbrush for him to use, and then went into the bedroom to turn down the bed while Will cleaned his teeth. When Will wandered in, he asked, “Which way to the guest bedroom?” 

“What does that matter?” Hannibal gestured toward the bed, to invite Will in. 

Will started to push the bathrobe off one shoulder, then said, “Oh. I don’t have any pajamas.” 

Hannibal came around to help divest Will of the robe, saying, “Yet another thing that is of little importance.” He could see Will gazing longingly at the bed, clearly tempted by the feel of buttery-smooth sheets and a thick, warm comforter, and ready to discard any apprehension he might have felt about sleeping naked in another man’s bed. 

“Where will you sleep?” Will said as he crawled under the comforter. Hannibal answered by standing at the other side of the bed and undressing. Everything he removed, he methodically hung up, or deposited in the hamper. 

Watching Hannibal climb into bed naked beside him, Will said drowsily, “Are you going to fuck me?” 

“We’ve only just had our first kiss,” Hannibal replied, pulling the covers up around him, “and now you want intense anal penetration.” 

“No, no, I don’t want that.” Will squeezed his eyes shut, turned his face away, and then back. “I was just…asking.” 

Lying on his side, facing Will, Hannibal propped himself on one elbow and asked, “Do you think I would try to do that to you if you didn’t want it?” 

Will thought on this a moment, then mused, “It would be terribly rude, wouldn’t it.” 

“What _would_ you like me to do to you, then?” 

It did not escape Will’s notice that Hannibal had not asked “ _Is_ there anything…?” but rather assumed that there must be something. 

“Hmm, you could…you could jerk me off,” Will said lazily. “I think it would feel really good to come right now.” 

Without hesitation, Hannibal reached beneath the covers and found Will’s cock, squeezing it gently until it came to full hardness, then giving it soft, slow strokes. Will covered Hannibal’s hand with his own. “A little harder,” he instructed, “like this.” He directed Hannibal’s hand to focus on the tip, to press on his frenulum as he worked the foreskin back and forth over the crown. “High and tight, that’s… _yes_.” 

He let his hand fall to the side again. The tip of his cock was becoming increasingly wet, and the sound of Hannibal using his foreskin to move the slickness around seemed to excite him further. Hannibal watched his chest rise and fall, watched him pink and flushed now, and squirming with pleasure. 

“Oh, _unh_.” Will arched into Hannibal’s grip, reaching up to grab the pillow with his left hand, stroking over his own chest with his right. “Why did you have to spend all that time last year flashing creepy lights at me, when you could have just been bathing me, massaging me, and jerking me off?” 

“Unorthodox therapies are best explored sequentially,” said Hannibal, without missing a beat, “not concurrently.” 

“Faster,” Will whispered. “Right there, right there, I’m so close.” Half a minute passed, however, without the promised result. Will opened his eyes to look at Hannibal, who had his own eyes firmly fixed on his work. But when he looked up, sharing Will’s gaze for just a moment, Will let out a groan. His half-lidded eyes became unfocused, and he experienced a quiet, sleepy orgasm, sighing once and then relaxing into a smile. His cock pulsed in Hannibal’s grip as two, three, four volleys of spunk shot onto his belly. 

Will’s whole body went slack. It would be unfair to expect him to move another muscle that evening. Hannibal regarded the mess on Will’s belly, and glanced at the box of tissues on the bedside table, but elected instead to lean down and lick the strands of semen from Will’s skin, gathering it lovingly with the tip of his tongue, happily taking some of Will inside himself while cleaning him. Will did not react. With a glance, Hannibal could discern that he had already fallen into slumber. 

Hannibal looked at the clock. It was a quarter after two; well into Saturday. Will wouldn’t have to teach today. They could spend the day together. A late three-course breakfast, then perhaps a visit to the art museum, followed by a stroll through Wyman Park. Maybe do a little shopping, too: Will’s new coat and scarf were a good look for him, but he could still use some shirts and ties; also shoes; a good suit; maybe something for more formal occasions as well…And then, after the Natural History museum closed, they could make their way into its hallowed halls, and he would help Will honor Randall Tier. 

So, first a night in for them, and then a night out. How very romantic indeed.

 


End file.
